To Hear the Angels
by seditionary
Summary: When Hotch and his son, Jack, prepare for their 1st Christmas without Haley, Spencer is included. How will he fit in? Sequel to Last Chance Creek. My gift to HayashiOkami for Xmas Xchange. Slash, angst, mild language and adult situations. Some fluff, too!


**My gift to HayashiOkami for the Christmas Gift Exchange, yay! Warnings: This is slash, there are mild references to adult situations, and a tiny bit of naughty language. Spoilers for the Foyet storyline on CM.**

**Prompts:**

**Hotch/Reid**

**-It Came Upon the Midnight Clear**

**-Holly**

**-Snow**

**-The North Pole (extra points if you want to find out what Mount Korvatunturi is and incorporate it) I did!**

**Story Summary: Hotch and Reid's relationship is derailed when Haley is murdered. They get back together and face the challenge of becoming a real family.**

**Thanks, loves-please review!**

**Seds**

* * *

So, a lot of bad stuff has happened since Last Chance Creek. Hotch was stabbed; I was shot; Haley died.

More than once, I thought I'd lose my mind. More than once, I thought I'd lose Hotch. I'm happy to say, it hasn't turned out that way.

Hotch's and my relationship has been a real rollercoaster ride. There was that awkward time, right after he and Haley separated, when Hotch first began to free himself enough to accept what I was offering him. That was when it first occurred to me that maybe the two of us really did have a chance together.

As bad as things were back then-him missing Jack, feeling guilty and ashamed for allowing his marriage to disintegrate-there were a lot of good times, too. We found ways to be alone together, flying above and dipping below the surface whenever we could.

It was easiest when we were away on a case. Not really a good environment for romance, but at the end of each day, in some anonymous hotel room far away from our well-worn problems and responsibilities, it was easy to slide into each other's arms, to learn each other's bodies, and to pretend that it was just the two of us, even though we both knew it was only going to be like that until morning, until we made it through to the next time.

I think we saved both of our sanities more than once, in a hotel room far away from Quantico, Virginia.

But, then, even at home, it wasn't too bad-Jack was mostly with Haley, and in a way, we had more time alone together then than we ever would again, not that we saw that coming. Hotch would come over to my place, or I'd go to his new apartment, and sometimes a whole evening would go by and it would just seem-normal. Two people, falling in love, enjoying a pizza and some television, then going to bed to make love and fall asleep in each other's arms. Everything else seemed sort of removed during those quiet times together.

Then, Foyet.

I thought I'd lose my mind for sure. Having a bullet tear through my leg was nothing compared to the first time I watched Hotch unwrap the bandages from around his torso. He flinched when I pressed my lips against first one, then another, then another, of the ugly, stitched, red wounds. Tears started. I broke down and sobbed, shaking, to think of what he'd endured, to think of what could have happened, and he pulled me close to him, wrapped me up and held me, saying, "Shh, shh, it's okay, now. It's okay, we're together, that's all that matters," and somehow, I believed him.

But, that was just the preamble. When Haley died, that was when I thought I'd lost him for good. He retreated into his mind in a way I'd never encountered before. It wasn't just grief-it was as if an iron gate had clanged down between him and me, between him and the whole world, except for Jack. For a while, it was just the two of them, and I didn't even try to intrude.

I wasn't exactly happy about having been shot, but it helped to be forced to focus on something, something I couldn't just choose to ignore. In fact, I was so focused on my leg, on the pain, on the inconvenience of learning to hobble around on crutches, that it was sort of okay for a while, him not being there. And, I wasn't alone. Those first few days when I had to stay at home, Morgan or Prentiss would come by and bring groceries or take-out, would sit with me and chat on their way home from work. They'd ask if I needed anything, and give me rundowns on developments in the latest case.

At the time, I wondered if they knew my heart was breaking. I don't think they did. They knew I had a crush on Hotch; they knew I was going through some bad stuff. But, back then, I don't think they even suspected that we'd been sleeping together. Hotch turned off whatever he felt about our relationship when he was at work, like water from a tap, and we were both careful not to leave together, or come in together. But, I could never really disguise my feelings the way he did.

Garcia drove me back and forth to physical therapy until I was well enough to drive myself, and JJ was the one who came by to pick me up for my first day back at the office. When I walked in that morning, it was the first time I'd seen Hotch since the funeral, and he looked at me as if he'd never... As if he'd never touched me.

I didn't blame him. Somehow, I imagined, he blamed me for losing Haley.

I went over it again and again, my mind twisting around the sequence of events in every possible way, trying to understand. What was he thinking-that, if I hadn't enticed him into an affair, he'd have tried harder to make things work with Haley? That, if he hadn't been messing around with me instead of working on his marriage, God wouldn't have punished him in this horrible way, taking his young son's mother away from him? That, if he hadn't been distracted by our relationship, he would have figured out Foyet's plan sooner-and he'd have saved her?

He never said any of those things to me, but I was sure that that was how he saw it. I was sure he'd never hold me again, that he couldn't even bear to look at me. I thought about quitting, moving to New York, or California, or even just disappearing, like Gideon did; then, one day, I was limping along on my crutches and I passed Hotch in the BAU hallway. At first, he acted as if he didn't even see me, and my heart broke again, right on cue. But, suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned around. He was standing there, a corner of his mouth turned up, his eyes trained on me like a laser. I stood for a moment, waiting, my heart pounding, my breath caught in my lungs.

"I miss you." He said it so quietly, I barely heard him, and the muscles I use to smile with, so slack from lack of use, almost hurt when I looked back at him.

"Me, too."

"Come over tonight?"

I nodded. And, that was it. Suddenly, I was back in his life, only this time it was his and Jack's life, and as the weeks passed, I was amazed to find that there was a place for me in it, a small one maybe, but it was good, it was certainly better than nothing.

* * *

And, now-it's early December, and we're facing another milestone-Hotch and Jack's first Christmas without Haley.

It'll be my first Christmas with them, sort of.

It's Saturday, and the first big snowfall of the season is here. Hotch made spaghetti for lunch, and we're sitting in the breakfast nook by the window, watching the flakes sprinkle down like powdered sugar. Jack is getting increasingly impatient-Hotch made some vague promise to let him go outside to build a snowman this afternoon, and he's so excited he can barely eat.

"I'm ready to play outside, Daddy," he announces for the third time.

"Two more bites, son." Hotch has this bemused expression, and I have to hide a grin. He's a good dad, and I like watching him play the tough-guy role with his little boy.

Jack sighs extravagantly, but sucks in another strand of pasta, then Hotch's phone rings. He checks the number, frowns, then answers.

"Hotchner." He listens for a moment, then excuses himself, and says to me, "This is going to take a while. See if Jack wants to watch cartoons-"

"Nooo! Daddy, you said I could go outside-" Jack wails. I see Hotch get that look on his face, the one where his heart is being torn in two between obligations of work and the needs of his child, and I quickly offer, "I can get him ready. I'll go outside with him."

They both look at me as if they don't believe I could possibly know how to operate the zipper on a pair of snow boots, but I hold my ground, and Hotch gives Jack an encouraging nod and says, "All right. Jack, go with Spencer. I'll be out as soon as I can."

Jack shrugs-obviously, he's the sort of fellow who appreciates a bird in the hand-and he allows himself to be encased in layers of wool and down. I throw a coat, scarf, and gloves on myself, open the door, and the two of us go out to feel the gentle caresses of fat, wet snow flakes on our cheeks, and the crunch of the deceptively soft white blanket of accumulation on the ground, which clearly begs to have a snow man created on it. There's a gang of tiny black birds fidgeting in the holly bushes that line the side of the house, and I point them out to Jack, telling him that the prickly leaves make a safe place for them to hide, and how they like to eat the little red berries, but that kids must never, ever eat them, because they're toxic to humans.

We bow to the will of the snow blanket and are soon laughing and throwing snow at each other and my inner-four-year-old is feeling pretty satisfied.

I show Jack how to roll a snow ball, making it larger and larger until we have a fair-sized base for our snowman, then my leg begins to ache, and I stand up and stretch and look longingly through the window, to inside the warm house. There's a naked 10-foot-tall Douglas fir in the picture window across the living room, waiting for adornment. I see Hotch walk by, he's still on the phone, his forehead's deeply furrowed, and I wonder who it is he's been talking to. A snow ball hits me in the chest as I turn back toward Jack, and he's giggling madly as I chase him down, scoop him up, and inform him that it's time to go inside and warm up.

"No, 'Pencer! Wanna play some more!"

"Not right now, my man, your nose is going to fall off."

"But, Daddy said he'd come out, too!"

"I know, buddy, but-" I tuck him under one arm and open the door, and Hotch looks up, guilt on his face. I smile reassuringly and start disassembling our snow-creature, who hasn't quite finished whining, but has begun to accept the inevitable, and he lets me take off his gloves, unwrap his scarf, and unzip his coat and boots. I pull off my own snow-dusted coat, hang it by the door, and say, "Let's find something for you to watch on TV. I'll make hot chocolate, then we'll get your dad to bring down the tree decorations, huh?"

Jack sucks in his lower lip as he mulls over my negotiations, considers his options, then reluctantly accepts the deal. "Okay, 'Pencer." Just then, Hotch snaps shut his phone. He looks exhausted.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods. He gets Jack settled in front of the tube, then follows me to the kitchen and says, "That was the mother of the last victim. She just needed to talk to someone who... felt connected to her daughter's case. Funny, we always tell these poor people to call us, and they almost never do. Then..." He shakes his head and sets out cups for the cocoa.

"I'm sorry. That must have been draining." I rub his back and sneak a hug, and he smiles. He takes me in his arms and we stand there, silent, just holding on. I'm still not sure where things stand for us, displays-of-affection-wise, in front of Jack, but I guess Hotch thinks Spongebob is sufficiently engrossing to make it a moot point.

"Your nose is cold," he says, pulling back, still smiling at me. I smile back and we kiss, just a little at first, but we get carried away, then I hear a rustle behind Hotch, and we turn to see Jack staring up at us. I pull away, Hotch kneels down and brushes a lock of blond hair out of his son's eyes.

"What's up, big guy?"

"When are we going to decorate the tree, Daddy?"

I can feel Hotch's sigh as well as hear it. "In a little while. After cocoa, okay?"

"'Kay."

We all sit on the couch together. Hotch and I share the newspaper, Jack makes his way into Hotch's lap and watches a little animated wisdom from the Cartoon Network, and an hour passes. We're warm, the cocoa's long gone and Hotch ruefully eyes the tree. "I guess the damn thing's not going to decorate itself." Jack makes a chortling sound and leaps to his feet. Hotch launches himself into a standing position and heads for the hallway, to the attic stairs. Not sure what to do or where my place is, if any, I tag along. He pulls the stairs down and I see him gird himself before starting up.

"I can go up there for you, Hotch."

"No, I'll do it. Just be ready when I hand down the boxes."

I watch him ascend, appreciating the way his slacks hug the curve of his ass, but Jack's bouncing around and I gently guide him away from the ladder. I glance down and see the excitement on the little guy's face, and I try to remember if I ever felt like that when I was a kid. I have only vague memories of a few Christmases with both my parents, and I try not to dwell on them, it's too painful. Those were good days, and there were way too few of them, and it still hurts. I wonder if Jack will be able to remember his mom, if he'll remember this Christmas, and if I'll ever be a part of any happy recollections that stay in his mind.

Hotch hands me a cardboard box. I see the neat handwriting on the side-"X-MAS TREE," Haley wrote that, I know. Hotch follows with another box, marked "MANTLE."

Jack's joyfully squealing and he immediately tears open one of the boxes. On top are two of those silly headbands with felt reindeer antlers attached. Jack puts on one, and holds out the other one for me. I put it on, and he bursts into giggles. Hotch climbs down, pushes the ladder back into place, turns and sees me. I'm ready for an insult, but hoping for a grin or even an actual laugh. Instead, he snarls and barks "Take that thing _off." _Before I have a chance to react, he snatches it from my head, yanking out a few hairs along with it, which hurts, and throws it back into the box. He strides off.

"Sorry," I mutter, rubbing my head, feeling stupid and bewildered. Jack looks up at me then runs after his father. I hear him say, "Don't yell at 'Pencer, Daddy, he's nice." I see Hotch's shoulders slump, and he drops to his knees and hugs Jack. I pick up the boxes and carry them into the living room, put them by the tree, then go to put on my coat.

I'm hurt and angry, but I guess it's my own fault. Clearly the damn antlers bear some significance beyond mere Christmas silliness. Maybe Hotch gave them to Haley, he probably thought she looked adorable in them. Maybe they'd both put them on and it became part of some bizarre sex thing that I don't even want to try to understand. I shudder at the thought.

In any case, it's clear to me that I have no business being here today, no business trying to be a part of their family, or any family, it's something I know nothing about and it's all very bewildering to me. Besides, Hotch has only just started letting me spend the night again, after a series of awkward talks with Jack about how I'm his special "friend," about how sometimes I'll be sleeping over.

_"Like when Tommy sleeps over, Daddy?" _

_"Uh... not exactly, son..." _

Change the subject, Hotch, change the subject.

No, I've decided, I'm just going to go home-let them start their father-son traditions on their own. I dig in my pants pockets, but I can't find my keys, and I think that maybe they're on the floor beside Hotch's bed, they might have fallen out when I undressed last night. I start to go looking for them, but when I turn, Hotch is standing in front of me.

He silently pushes the coat off my shoulders, then slides it down my arms, and off. He lays it over one arm, hugs me around the neck with the other, and whispers, "Please don't go. Stay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that... Haley used to put on those ridiculous things, and-"

"Daddy! Come on, I found Tweety-Bird!" Hotch turns to see Jack by the tree, holding up an ornament.

"Just a minute, son." He turns back to me and caresses my face. He looks so sad. I manage to pull off a smile.

"It's okay." I hug him, and somehow the hurt flows away. "I'm the one who's sorry, I should have realized-I was being insensitive..."

"No, you don't understand. It's just that... "

"Daddy, 'Pencer-hurry up!" Now, Jack's making little impatient hops around the tree, and Hotch gives a small chuckle.

"All right, all right-here we come. Spencer, why don't you see if you can find some Christmas music on the radio?" He's holding my coat with both hands and looks at me hopefully. I smile and nod. He hangs the coat by the door.

Grateful for the task, I go to the stereo and tune it to a station playing holiday music, 24-7. I lean against the couch, determined to stay out of the way, but Hotch brings strands of lights over to me and indicates that I should help him untangle them. We make short work of it, then he has me help him drape them around the tree. Hotch finds his camera, hands it to me, and suggests that we start taking pictures.

Jack, who I've noticed tends to be a picky and organized little individual, has divided the ornaments into categories, their genus known only to himself, and he begins hanging them on the tree's lower branches. Hotch grins, and hands some to me. We allow Jack to direct us in their placement, and once the tree is full and glittering and shiny, Hotch lifts the boy up on his shoulder to place the star on the very top. I grab the camera, take the shot and show them both the image-they actually look happy. Hotch has me pose with Jack, sitting in front of the tree; then, he sets a timer, and scoots in next to us, the flash goes off, and, voila, it's the first picture the three of us have ever taken together.

We almost look like a family.

* * *

We work our way around the house, putting up wreaths and lights and garland, and by 9:00 PM, it's fair to say that all three of us are exhausted. Jack's been reduced to a whiny, clingy mess, and says he wants his mother. We're all hungry, but suddenly, nothing sounds good, and I just go and make grilled cheese sandwiches. Hotch and I eat silently, watching tears slide down Jack's cheeks, clear and wrenching as a knife. He nibbles a little, then Hotch picks him up and takes him off to get ready for bed.

I find a book and lie down on the couch, waiting. I'm not sure if Hotch wants me to spend the night again or not. Sometimes, when Jack gets like this, he seems to feel having me around just makes things worse, which I understand. I guess if I were a woman, Jack could direct his anger toward me and be safe in accusing Hotch of trying to replace his mommy, but being a man, I don't think Jack quite knows what to make of me, and he just gets more and more wound up with frustration.

Time passes. I can hear the boy crying.

I look up, Hotch is standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, looking defeated.

"I don't know what to do, Spencer. He's borderline hysterical."

I sit up. "I could try."

"Be my guest."

I purse my lips, thinking. "All right." I get up and head into Jack's room. He's in his pajamas, sitting propped up against the headboard with his arms clasped around his knees, sobbing. He looks at me, his face red and scrunched up. "I miss my mommy."

I kneel by the bed and take his hand. "I know you do, buddy. You're also tired, and you've had a lot of excitement for one day. Maybe I could tell you a bedtime story? It might help you get sleepy."

"Don't want a story."

I nod. "Okay. Well, maybe you could tell me one."

"No."

"All right, then. How about a dialectic? I prefer Hegelian over Socratic, but it's your choice."

"No!"

"No? But, we haven't even agreed upon a topic!"

"Nooo!"

"Do you even know what a dialectic is?"

"No! Go away, 'Pencer."

I give him an exaggerated frown, and drum my fingers on his nightstand, letting him know I'm seriously pondering the situation. Suddenly, I brighten.

"Hey, I know. You want to know the truth about where Santa Claus lives?"

He looks at me, sniffs, shrugs, and gives me a pitying look, but I can tell he's a little bit interested. "Santa lives at the North Pole," he says with certainty.

"Naw, that's a story for babies."

"It is?" Suddenly, his eyes are big, and I give him a casual nod. I've got him.

"Oh, yeah. Nothing can live at the North Pole, it's uninhabitable. Elves could never survive there, long-term."

"Then, where _does_ Santa live?"

I start telling him about Mount Korvatunturi, a three-peaked mountain in Finnish Lapland in the province of Savukoski. I start to go into the fact that it lies approximately 1585 feet above sea level on the Finnish/Russian border, but I can tell he's getting antsy, so I switch to talking about how it's actually the home of Father Christmas, where he and his elves gather presents all year long for delivery on Christmas Eve.

I tell him how the name of the mountain translates to mean, "Ear Mountain," because Father Christmas listens to what the children are saying throughout the year to find out if they're obeying their parents or not. Good little children get their Christmas wishes, but if they're naughty, they don't get anything. "Sounds fair, huh?" I ask. Jack agrees, then he gives me a worried look.

"Have I been good, 'Pencer?"

"That's what I hear."

"I'll get my Christmas wishes?"

"I think so." I smile at him and he smiles back, a little. "Now, how about you snuggle up under the covers and get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay." He reaches up for a hug. I give him a big one and tuck him under the covers. I switch off his lamp, leaving on a nightlight, and I stand and head for the door, where Hotch is waiting. I turn back.

"Good night, Jack."

"'Night."

Hotch goes in and hugs and kisses him and says something that makes Jack giggle, I suspect it's at my expense, but that's okay. Then, Hotch gets up and comes to stand beside me. Jack's turned over on his side and we step out. Hotch closes the door, looks at me and says, "I don't know what you did, but, thanks."

"Oh, no problem. It's just a matter of inducing a pattern-interrupt mechanism, then creating some visual imagery. It's a modified version of neuro-linguistic programming, and-"

Hotch kisses me. I've noticed he does that when he wants to shut me up, but it's actually a fairly ineffective technique, because I like being kissed, and he's just setting up an approach-avoidance conflict for himself, but in this case, it works out, because he takes my face in his hands and deepens the kiss, teasing my tongue with his, licking, until I forget what I was going to say.

He leans back and smiles at me, and I've got that my-joints-are-turning-to-jelly, butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling, and at that moment it's difficult to care about elves or reindeer or tinsel or much of anything but lying naked in bed next to Hotch and continuing what we've started, and...

"Help me tidy up the living room, will you?" he asks as he slips away from me and heads to the other room. _You've got to be kidding_, I think. I roll my eyes, but say, "Sure."

I follow him and we pick up cups, stray push-pins, unneeded garland, and newspaper. I carry out the garbage, then come back and wash my hands in the kitchen. I can hear that the Christmas music is now in somber mode, and I go back to the living room and see Hotch standing there, looking a little lost, holding an ornament in his hands. I walk up to him, and he speaks, almost more to himself than to me.

"I gave this to Haley on our first Christmas after we were married." It was a little dog wearing wings and a halo, with a goofy smile on its face, holding up a sign saying "Merry Christmas, Angel." I nod, and sigh. I'm tired. I wish I knew how to make things better, but I don't. I think I'll just go home to my apartment, where there're no blinking lights or fir allergens, or tiny Santa figurines, or guilt, or sorrow, or Christmas music, or ghosts, and see if there's anything on the Discovery Channel.

Hotch stares at little ornament for another minute, then seems to come to some conclusion. He hangs it toward the back, low on the tree, at Jack-height, then comes and puts his arms around me and gives me a tight squeeze. He speaks, and his voice is low and warm in my ear.

"I love you."

I stand there, bewildered. He's said some nice things to me recently, like, "I appreciate your help," and "It's been nice, having you around," and "Having sex with you is quite pleasurable, Spencer," but this... he's never said "I love you" to me before. I pull back, look into his eyes and whisper, "I love you, too."

He grins ruefully. "That can't be easy."

I grin back. "It's not. But... I don't mind. As long as you feel the same."

"I do. By the way, when is the lease up on your apartment?"

"Funny time to discuss real estate, Hotch."

"Just tell me."

"February."

"Perfect. I want you to move in with me. With us. Once the excitement of the holidays dies down, we can start getting you packed."

I stare at him. He raises an eyebrow. "What? Don't you want to?"

"Uh..."

He doesn't say anything, but the look on his face is a combination of serious irritation and hurt, and I'm scrambling to get my thoughts together, to explain myself.

"I mean, yes, I do. But... Hotch, Haley-I feel her presence everywhere in this house, and you... Clearly, you haven't recovered from losing her. And, I just keep... making missteps."

He's frowning, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Like the stupid reindeer antlers. Obviously, you have some emotional attachment to them, and I-"

He shakes his head. "No, Spencer, you don't understand." His expression turns wistful and he runs his fingertips over my cheek. "You just looked so-cute. And, I felt so guilty. Because, so many times, before, I'd wished that..."

"What?"

"That you were here, in her place. Not just in my bed. Everywhere. Long before you and I..." He stares at the tree, and a light bulb comes on in my head, and as bad as I know he's feeling, I suddenly feel kind of good. It had never once occurred to me that Hotch had ever wished he had me _instead _of Haley.

"I wished it, and then... it came true." He takes a deep breath. "When I saw you standing there, with those damn boxes that she'd packed at your feet, with those idiotic things on your head-I'd envisioned that scene before, and it just struck me-what a bastard I really am."

Enter Light Bulb Number 2-he didn't blame me. He blamed himself. I shake my head.

"No, Hotch, you're not. You're not a bastard."

"You don't know..."

"Come on. You know that what happened to Haley was not your fault."

"Intellectually, yes, I know that."

"You know, but-"

"But, it's difficult to believe it, to really believe it."

"You loved her."

"Of course. But, it's been years since I was 'in love' with her." He gives me a dark look. "You forced me to realize that."

I swallow, hard. "I'm sorry."

He smiles and shakes his head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. My marriage was in trouble a long time ago, and I allowed it to get worse and worse. I blamed it on the job, but-I could have made different choices. I could have taken a different position, been home regularly and on time... But, I didn't want to." He sighs. "It took a while for me to figure it out, but-I wanted to be with you."

Hotch's words hit me somewhere deep inside my brain and it's like my legs have been kicked out from under me. I can't speak, and all I'm aware of is the song playing in the background. It's one I remember it from childhood:

_It came upon the midnight clear,_

_That glorious song of old,_

_From angels bending near the earth,_

_To touch their harps of gold:_

_"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men_

_From heavens all gracious King!"_

_The world in solemn stillness lay_

_To hear the angels sing._

"Spencer, what's wrong?" Hotch has my chin in his hand and is looking worriedly into my eyes.

I realize I'm crying. I smile, embarrassed, and say, "Nothing. It's the holidays, I get kind of emotional. Sorry." Hotch pulls me to him and holds me, tightly, tightly. I lay my head on his shoulder and shudder back a sob. I close my eyes and pull myself together.

"What about Jack?" I ask.

"What about Jack?"

"How's he going to feel, having me around all the time?"

Hotch pulls back and looks at me, amused. "Jack loves you, Spencer. Haven't you noticed?"

"I thought he just sort of tolerated me."

"He talks about you all the time. He's the one who suggested that you should live here. He says, when you're here, I'm happy. And... he said he wants me to be happy." His grin deepens. "He even put it on his Christmas list. Admittedly, it was after about twenty video games, Legos, Transformers, and Hot Wheel sets, but it was on there."

I glance at the Christmas tree, at the decorated fireplace mantle, and swipe at my eyes. I don't know if I'm ready for this, for any of it. Kids strike me as devious, unpredictable creatures. I'm set in my ways and not used to a lot of noise and confusion, which seems to be an integral feature of family life. And, the ghosts of the past, there are about a hundred pictures of Haley staring at me, just in this room alone. Hotch follows my gaze, then looks back at me with understanding.

"Intimidating, isn't it?"

I laugh. "A little."

He puts an arm around me. "I'll work on it. I don't want Jack to think I'm dismissing his mother. But... I want this to be your home, and I want you to be happy here. It's my Christmas wish."

I smile at him and kiss him. We finish cleaning up, then go to bed, and Hotch makes a little Christmas wish of my own come true, twice. Then, I fall asleep and dream of long-ago carols, long-forgotten presents, and my mother and father sharing a kiss under the mistletoe.

* * *

When I wake up, I think I'm going to be okay with the moving-in idea.

Hotch is up already, and I hear him talking to Jack. I put on some clothes and pad into the living room. Hotch turns and points at the fireplace mantle. He's taken down a few of the Haley pictures.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Jack and I are doing a little redecorating. He's going to put these in his room, and we're going to put this one on the mantle." Jack's holding a framed print of the photo of the three of us in front of the Christmas tree. Hotch lifts him up and Jack places it, right in the middle. When Hotch sets him down, he comes running to me and throws his arms around my legs.

"Want to finish our snow man now, 'Pencer."

"Uh... Wasn't your dad supposed to help with that?" I cast an accusing look at Hotch and he innocently examines his fingernails.

"Nooo, want you to do it!"

"All right, all right, we will-but, later, okay? Like after lunch?"

"No, now!"

Hotch targets a stern look at his son. "Jack-it's too cold right now, and poor Spencer's barely awake. He hasn't even had a cup of coffee yet. Why don't you go get dressed, then we can eat breakfast? The two of you can work on the snow man after that."

Jack gives me a disapproving look, but shrugs and speeds off to change. I look at Hotch and he smiles, then gestures at the picture of the three of us.

"It's not much, but it's a start." Hotch slips an arm around me and I relax against him.

"It's enough, Hotch. It's everything I ever wanted. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I cast a sideways glance at him. "You _are _going to help with the damn snow man, aren't you?" I ask.

He gets that innocent look again. "Uh... Actually, I think there're more decorations in the attic that need to come down."

"Oh, no. You said yourself we were finished, this place is a darn Winter Wonderland, it's practically Mount Korvatunturi in here!"

_"What?" _Hotch asks, puzzled.

"Ask Jack. And, for your information, yes, you are helping with the snow man."

"I think we need to re-think this moving-in arrangement..."

We banter along as we make coffee, kiss, and start arguing about who's going to do laundry, wash dishes, take out the trash...

Because, that's what families do, apparently.


End file.
